


But I'm the thing you fear...

by o0_Kiyomitsu_0o



Series: Times we met but didn't know [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, They are getting closer to happy, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, Violence, Yinsen is not mentioned but probably somewhere around, he tries his best, hurt/comfort/hurt again, probably not the correct way to get a dislocated shoulder fixed, somehow at least, the asset tries to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o/pseuds/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o
Summary: The asset is to accompany a weapon delivery to Afghanistan, where the buyer of said weapons had taken a hostage.A different approach on one of the nights during Tony's captivity.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: Times we met but didn't know [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184354
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	But I'm the thing you fear...

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for your interest in reading my story (^w^)
> 
> Before you continue, please note that I'm neither an native English- nor an native Russian-speaker aaaand I didn't have a Beta-reader to sort through my mistakes, so please excuse my grammar and my spelling.
> 
> Another thing little thing: For any mistakes with the cultural clothing I apologize in advance.
> 
> Translations at the end (I used an online-translator, please correct me if the internet betrayed me Ó.ò)
> 
> Even if it doesn't look like it, I really love both character, I swear! At some point I want to see them happy.
> 
> If you notice anything, please let me know so I can correct it right away (n.n)

It was hot, the air dry and even with his enhanced senses it was difficult for the asset to not lose track of the convoy of trucks barreling their way through the heat of Afghanistan’s dessert. A week prior the asset had been assigned to do a weapon presentation since one of Hydras most notorious buyers had wanted a show of the latest weaponry, that the organization had gotten their hands on. The guns and blasters labelled ‘Stark Industries’ were easy to handle and good shots. The asset had been impressed by their long-range accuracy and so was the buyer. Which led to one of Hydras biggest transactions the asset had heard his handlers talk about during his time awake. 

The ‘Jericho Missile’ an especially important piece of artillery within the ungodly pile of destruction the buyer had ordered. It was irreplaceable since no one besides its creator knew the concept behind it. Which led to the decision that the asset was to escort the delivery to the designed location, a cave hidden deep within the rural parts of Afghanistan’s mountains, guaranteeing its’ save arrival. 

They had been driving for hours when the foot of the mountain path leading towards their destination came into view. The sun was already beginning to vanish behind the mountain’s peaks, throwing long shadows over the arriving convoy that stopped in a tent city built between rocks and natural caverns. 

The asset had been dressed in a wide grey linen perahan tunban, the traditional clothing, that was wide enough to hide the tactical gear as well as the metal arm beneath it, as well as a scarf to cover head and face, leaving only the part around the eyes free. His handler didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention, that might cause suspicions to arise. Covered from head to toe like that, he didn’t look much different from the other men flitting in and out of his peripheral vision.

The asset was giving a sign, the same time his handler barked out a command in a language the asset barely understood. Two Pashtons appeared, who quickly joined the asset, who had already begun to unload the first truck, piling box after box in one of the makeshift storage- tents. This missile the only thing, that was brought to another part of the camp.

The sun had already gone down when the last of the trucks was finally empty. The cold of the desert’s night a stark contrast to the unbidding sun of the day. The asset didn’t mind. His body used to extreme temperature thanks to the tests Hydra had him go through to find out where the assets limits to cold- and heat-exposure were lying. The asset ignored the urge to shiver as memories of ice-water running down his strapped down body resurfaced. The cold breeze was much better and as long as his handler was pleased it, the chance of the situation worsening was low. 

The asset would leave together with his handler in the early morning hours. For the night the asset was ordered to assist the buyer’s men on guard duty. The native leading him through the tunnel-labyrinth stopped in front of a heavy iron-door. The tall, lean man wearing similar close as the asset unlocked the door, gesturing for the asset to step inside.

The iron door fell shut as soon as the asset was inside the damp, stuffy room the cavern had opened up into. Since the door was blocking any air circulation it felt like the stale smell coming from the walls was amplifying with every breath the asset took. 

The asset concentrated on the few instructions he had been given before led away to his post. Keeping an eye on the hostage the buyer had taken. Subduing him should he start to get violent. They didn’t get any more specific than the hostage was needed alive, his head and hands operational. Injuries endearing the given instructions were to prevent at all costs.

Since there wasn’t any further command on what to do, the asset sat down on the far-off corner from where the dingy cell could be overlooked sufficiently. In the corner across from where the asset was sitting a bloody rack, that might have been a blanket once was bunched up into a makeshift pillow. Given there was nothing else to for him to do, the asset took in his surroundings, concentrating on the details. Rough stone walls. Sandy floor stained with blood. Air stale, but getting more bearable by the minute. Different stench overlapping in the scarcely lit room. A mixture of earth, sweat, mould and a tint of iron. 

Within the sparse cell there was only so much for the asset to do while waiting for his charge to be brought in. He made a mental check on his gear in case the hostage was proving himself more difficult to overwhelm than the average man the asset had fought. Five knifes on his torso. Two guns. One in the holster on his right side, the other strapped to his left leg. Two more knifes attached to the belt on his lower back, an emergency one hidden in his right boot. 

During missions the weapon check-up had become a habit that calmed the asset. The last thing to do before the routine was completed was a quick flex of the metal arm to letting it re-calibrate. The sound of every plate clicking back into place eliciting a bizarre mixture of fear and security within the asset.

The sound of heavy footsteps and something being dragging over the sandy ground had the asset spring up to full attention immediately. The door swung open with a loud crash. The two men had blood on their linen shirts they were wearing, blood that didn’t look like it was their own. 

The asset watched as they dragged a limp body inside, throwing it into the direction of the bloodied rag without a word spoken. They eyed the asset warily before leaving the room again. A deadbolt clicked back into place, leaving the room silent except for the ragged breathing coming from the heaving body across the room. 

Gaze fixed on the man lying face down on the reddening sand the asset was trying to analyse how this broken pile of human was treated as such a high risk that a guard was needed. It didn’t make much sense, but it wasn’t his place to question his handler’s orders. His only reason was to follow them.

The next hours passed and the asset resumed the mental dis- and reassembling of his guns, eyes never leaving the unmoving figure on the other side of the cell. It was another hour later when the first sign of life filled the air in form of a pain filled groan as the man tried to roll onto his side. 

The asset didn’t move. He was there to keep an eye on the man making sure he was still in required condition and from the assets spot it the required conditions were met. Only that the pained grunts didn’t cease. The slightest movement rustling the man’s left shoulder punched a new howl out of the shivering body. 

The asset frowned. Had those men not understood the order to leave the hostage in working condition? He watched the man struggle for air as a particular hard wince caused a violent coughing fit that was a cacophony of coughs whimpers and half suppressed howls, before pushing himself from his observing position at the far-off wall. 

He crossed the small distance with a few silent strides, stopping right beside the shaking body. Even in the dim light the asset could see just how much damage had been done. The man had a swollen black eye, a split lip and diverse rivulets of blood running down from his temple and forehead, some of them dried up already, others glistering in their fluid state, the clean red a stark contrast to the grime covering tanned face. 

The left shoulder was twisted into an odd angle. Dislocated, thus the trouble to use his arm as leverage. On further inspection the asset could see dark purple bruises littering ever part of the olive skin exposed by the tears in the green shirt the man was wearing. 

Another gurgling cough pulled the assets attention back to the bruised face still pressed into the sandy ground. There was a puddle of blood and spit stating to form next to chapped pale lips where the man was struggling for air but only inhaling more blood and dust. 

The asset was to keep the hostage from acting violent. The asset was to keep the hostage at working condition. Dead the man would be useless to his handlers and the asset would be the one to blame, which would lead to punishment. Punishment that could be avoided.

Without thinking any further, the asset knelt down behind the shivering heap of cuts and bruises and slipped his right hand underneath the man’s bony collarbones. He was thin, the asset noticed as he pulled the wheezing man up into a sitting position where he could lean back against the assets chest to ease the breathing. 

To his dismay the coughing flared up. The asset tried to press his right hand over the smaller man’s sternum, so he could bow him forward enough not to swallow the coughed-up blood, but a weak hand tried to swat away the gloved hand. The clumsy movement pushed the tattered shirt off the uninjured shoulder. 

Only then the asset noticed the heavy bandage covering the brunet’s chest as well as the faint blue glow hidden beneath the dirty fabric stripes. Processing the new information, the asset adjusted the grip to not further irritate the now more than prominent injury, using his left to loosely hold on to the shivering man’s narrow waist. 

The asset waited until the worst heaving subsided. When he was sure there wasn’t another coughing fit to follow, he loosened his grip, but to his surprise the smaller man sank back against the asset while letting out a shaky breath. ‘Tha’you’ the injured man rasped out; voice hoarse from the coughing. 

The asset didn’t know what to say. No one had ever thanked the asset. Fulfilling given orders was his purpose. He didn’t even know if he was allowed to speak, his handler hadn’t given any permission. The asset kept silent, but didn’t stand up either.

‘you…’ another ragged wheeze, ‘you not much of a talker, huh? Probably don’t understand me anyways.’ The brunets voice was hoarse. From the coughing, yes, but that rattling sound accompanying every hard-fought breath together with the damp hair pressed underneath the assets clothes chin spoke of barrels filled with water. A vice grip on the back of the head pressing a face under the wet surface until lungs begin to burn and limps beginning to lose their strength to fight for air. Of being pulled back up for just enough time to get half a gulp of air that had to last the next push under. The asset unconsciously took one breath, two breaths, three breaths before realizing that he could in fact breath freely. 

Caught up in his own mind for a moment to long the asset didn’t notice injured man was trying to rest against him until a sharp inhale followed by an audible wince pulled the assets attention back to the present, more precisely the shorter man, trying to cut back another groan when his back came in touch with the assets front again.

‘you are much nicer than your pals out there.’ The drying mop of brown curls tried to turn around, but the dislocated shoulder stopped the movement and punched another howl out of the smaller man, who still tried to talk his way through the obvious pain. ‘In any… in any other... any other situation I would at least offer a hand handshake, but as it is, I can’t move for shit with my shoulder fucked up like this.’ The man cursed through his gritted teeth. 

The asset felt more than saw the panting man squirm around to find a position that could offer at least some relive to the strained and twisted shoulder. With an injured arm the man wasn’t in working condition, the asset thought. A dislocated joint he could get back in place, was the conclusion. 

With an abrupt turn the asset pushed himself up, catching the unbalanced brunet with his covered metal hand, guiding him to the ground so he was lying on his back, the barely concealed flinch at the change of position making the asset wince in sympathy. 

One wide brown eye, the one that wasn’t closed shut by the swelling, watched the asset pull a stripe of linen from the hem of his shirt, that hadn’t been soaked in one of the puddles of blood littering the floor. Panic filled the umber coloured orb as the shorter man tried to scramble backwards realizing the asset was about to kneel down next to the injured arm.

Fear, it was almost palpable. An impossible wide eye watched in horror as the asset pulled off the glove of his flesh hand, guiding it towards the chapped lips, that immediately pressed together. The asset didn’t bother. With practiced ease he forced the others mouth open by digging his thumb and index finger into the bruised cheeks, so he could use the more or less clean piece of clothing as a gag. 

The look of fear and pain other faces was familiar to the asset, what he didn’t understand was the hurt and betrayal, that the brunet was showing openly. It left a foul aftertaste in the back of the assets mind. He was trying to ease the coming pain. It was the only courtesy Hydra had taught him, giving something to bite on, while maintenance was going on. They couldn’t put him in cryo for that, since they needed to see potential malfunctions and short-circuits, that would risk the asset efficiency. 

It hurt, it always hurt when they did that, but he hadn’t done anything wrong, so they granted him this mercy, just as the shivering man in front of the asset. Getting the shoulder back in pace would hurt, but he hadn’t done something wrong. Why was the asset so sure the man hadn’t something wrong? He frowned. He couldn’t know, but he didn’t want the brunet to look at him with so much distraught either, why was that? 

The asset shoved the irritation away. He needed to focus on the task at hand. In a quick move the asset caught the shivering man’s wrist of the injured arm with his left, careful not to hold on to tight, the ungiving metal far stronger than his right, but the wince was unhidden. Whether it was born from pain or from fear the asset couldn’t tell and a twisted thing inside his chest hoped it had been the first. He didn’t want the other to fear him. 

The metal hand close around the slender joint before locking the hold in place. Careful not to put too much strain on the shoulder, the asset slowly guided the arm into a ninety-degree angle. Both eyes of the man were squeezed shut tightly, the leather glove muffling pained grunts. 

The asses halted for a moment to let the man catch his breath. Tears had started to run down the dirt-covered face, leaving small trails of lighter skin where they had managed to wash off some of the grime. 

The asset didn’t realize he had moved again until he saw one brown eye fly open as he caught a fresh tear with the back of his un-gloved hand. The brunet froze, letting the assets cooler skin rest against a flaming hot cheek. The man was running a fever the asset noted.

Shock, fear, surprise, wariness as well as other expressions the asset couldn’t name danced over the battered face, as the shorter mans eyes flitted over the scarf and back to the asset’s eyes, seemingly in search for something. The asset wasn’t sure what it was the other was looking for, but after a long moment of hesitance he could feel the hot cheek press against his hand a bit more. 

Something warm rose through the asset from their point of contact and for a split second the asset thought the fever might have been contagious, only that he couldn’t get sick, at least not as far as the asset knew. He didn’t move until the sudden racing of his heart settled in a more familiar rhythm, the sudden increase of pulse was concerning, was he malfunctioning?

He withdrew the hand, which elicited an unexpected whine from behind the gag, that sounded less pained but more unhappy. The asset frowned, looking at his hand for moment, before placing it right above the dislocated joint. The grasp that followed immediately was more expected. 

With the metal hand still firmly set-in place, bracketing the short brunet’s wrist, the asset pulled the arm back with a sudden jolt, forcing an agonizing scream out of the injured man, that was audible even with the makeshift gag in place. The asset ignored the trashing, in favour of keeping the frail body steady as he rotated the arm in small circles until a soft crack told him the shoulder had found its way back into place. 

More tears were flowing freely from the closed eyes, the black eye getting worse the minute. The asset let go of the arm, placing it next to the erratically heaving body, before half crawling around the brunet, so he could lean against the wall, keeping the room and the door in his line of sight.

Not for the first time that night, the asset found himself moving before he even noticed it, this time he was inching closer towards the brunet, so he could lift the mop of brown curls up to place it in his lap as a poor version of a pillow. The asset wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but it made the warm feeling within his chest flare up again. 

He brushed the uncovered hand through sweat soaked strands of hair, letting his knuckles ran down along the tear streaks, suppressing the warm shudder threatening to ripple through the assets body at the unfamiliar feeling of soft skin and light touches. 

The muffled mewling sound reminded the asset of the piece of leather still limiting the man’s breathing. With a light touch against the others cheek, the asset warned the panting man before he eased the makeshift gag out of the unclenching teeth. The shuddering inhales sucking in one gulp of air after the other followed immediately. 

They stayed silent. The asset unsure what to do, so he didn’t move. Neither did the short brunet, who was still resting against the asset’s thigh, eyes firmly closed. The asset didn’t mind, the position allowing him full view of the room, but enough closeness to listen to the others now steadying breaths. 

‘thank you’ the faint whisper was barely audible between the soft pants. The asset looked down, but the other man had kept his eyes shut. The silence stretched out. The shorter man was waiting for the asset to reply, but he didn’t know what to say. He had fulfilled his mission, making sure the man was in working condition. At least that’s what the asset had thought he was doing, but the warm feeling in his chest hadn’t subsided and suddenly the asset wasn’t sure anymore what he was doing, whether he was fulfilling his mission or overstepping his limited jurisdiction. 

The other didn’t seemed to mind the lack of response, filling the void with his own slightly slurred words. ‘I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Tony. Well, you probably know who I am since your folks keep me here. You don’t understand me, huh? Don’t trouble yourself.’ The short man paused; his one good eye glanced up at the asset. 

‘You know, it’s weird and likely just a stupid pain induced hallucination anyways but I feel like I’ve seen you before...’ the words were getting steadier as the man spoke, still rough and ragged at the edges, but less strained. The short man sounded livelier, somehow more natural, like the not ending stream of words was exactly how the man should sound. 

Still, the asset kept silent. He understood the other perfectly fine, since he had been introduced to the most common languages as part of his training, but he had overstepped his bounds by miles already, he was sure of that by know and answering the man might just break the last straw. They would put him back into the re-calibration program. He couldn’t. He had to go through too many training sessions ingraining his duty into every sore muscle, into every bruised patch of skin, into every broken bone, so the lessons would implant themselves as the assets body began to heal again. 

The asset kept silent, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, if only because the brunet’s half—voiced out wondering gave the asset an earie feeling. How could the man know him? The asset had never been seen. He was trained to operate in the shadows, trained to never leave witnesses to his deeds and as far as the asset remembered he hadn’t done so.

The mop of hair in the assets lap shifted so the short man was lying on his side, facing the asset. He didn’t look up, didn’t wait for the asset to do anything before the bruised face was buried in grey linen, the mobile arm slowly inching upwards to grab the hem of the overly long fabric with shivering hands. 

The shifting in his lap interrupted the assets attempts to search through spotty memories of past missions for brunet curls and chestnut brown eyes, but none of them matched the man who was starting to curl into himself. The violent shivers against his leg had the asset look down. He quickly shook his head, as it would help to clear his vision of all the unfamiliar faces he had tried to recall, before reaching for the spot on the light grey shirt, that had started to turn dark where the man was hiding his face. 

The assets could feel the warm dampness seeping through the fabric as well as through the hidden gear beneath reaching the skin of his stomach. It was then, that the asset noticed the man’s breathing had become erratic again, every heaving shudder running through the fragile, broken body. ‘the-hey died… so-ho ma’y di-hied… be-he… be-hecause of me.’ The words more hiccups between heart-breaking sobs tearing their way out of the shaking man. ‘my… my… weapons... under my nose... the-hey, used… used them… because I... beca-ause I didn’t care enough... because... of me ... so many people died.’ 

The sobs got worse with every broken syllable. They were so full of guilt and regret as the man, Tony he had called himself, as Tony continued to cry about things the asset couldn’t understand. Tony hasn’t killed and tortured those people himself, why was he so upset? Wasn’t that the reason weapons were made? Weapons that the asset had used to erase people from existence? Weapons like the asset himself? He was made to kill. Why would Tony mourn their deaths? 

The questions had the assets mind turning and pounding, forcing him to will away some black spots in his peripheral vision. He was at loss what to do, but seeing the brunet in so distress was making the headache worse. Like muscle memory when he reassembled a gun, the asset let his un-gloved hand brush over the brunet’s half showing cheek. It had worked before to calm him down before, only this time the sobbing got worse. 

‘The..hey, they want me to... to... to create some… something even worse... I... don... I... I... can’t... they will...’ the words were swallowed by more sobs that quickly began to turn into an unrhythmical hyperventilation. The asset felt a pull on the fabric, where the man was holding on to it with more strength the asset would’ve expected from the injured brunet. 

He let his hand wander further down towards the sobbing man’s neck, letting his thumb draw little circles on the exposed skin, where older bruises were already fading into a green-yellowish hue. To the assets relieve he could feel the heaves slowly starting to sync with the pattern he was drawing. Why was he feeling relieve? Because the man was doing better and his handler would get what he wanted? Because he had made sure the hostage was in a state to fulfill his part of the plan? But would he? The asset couldn’t see the short man, who was inching closer towards the asset working for his handler. Didn’t want to see the chestnut brown curls dragged into one of Hydras dens as another asset. 

The thought sunk down the into the assets stomach heavy as lead. White noise flaring up with every scene of his own training only that it wasn’t him strapped down on the chair. Big brown eyes screaming for the help his voice couldn’t ask for. 

‘m so scared...’ the small voice weaved through the thick fog of memories the asset would give anything to forget and for a moment he wasn’t sure if it wasn’t his own voice admitting to what he felt every time he was woken up, every time he had to put on the gear, every time the mask closed around his face. He wasn’t scared of what he had to do, but of what would happen if he failed. 

It took a moment to realize that he hadn’t spoken a single word, instead he was biting the inside of his cheek so hard, that he could already taste his own blood. ‘I’m scared of what they want me to do… what they will do with it…’ Tony's defeated voice was unsettling but the asset didn’t know how to make it better. The asset didn’t know how to help. The asset was made to follow orders. To kill for his handlers. To execute hydras will. The asset was exactly what Tony was so afraid of, because he would not hesitate to shoot if ordered, so how could the asset give Tony any reassurance, when he was the reason for his fear to begin with? 

Unable to move in the face of the harsh truth the asset let his warm hand slide down onto the back of the breaking man, letting it slide up and down in a nearly mechanical movement, avoiding the patches of purple and blue as well as the angrily swollen red lines, that would probably turn into silvery scars if they got the chance to heal. ‘Can you stay?’ The timid question made the shivering man sound so young and vulnerable and something within the asset just wanted to confirm it, but he knew first thing morning comes he would have to be back at his handler’s side to avoid punishment for him, but just as likely for the softly panting brunet. The thought of leaving Tony made something in his chest began to crumble, but seeing him in his handler’s hands? That he couldn’t bear.

The asset stayed silent. He didn’t have to say it out loud for Tony to understand, because he could feel the moment the little glimmer of hope slipped from the shorter man, letting his body fall into itself. The asset tried his best to keep his touch light as he resumed the path his hand had been following over Tony’s nape and back, even if the same traitorous voice, that had wanted to promise Tony he would stay, was screaming for him to pull the other closer, to hold him, to reassure him that it would be ok. 

The asset didn’t know the voice, but he could feel in in every part of his body. He bit down hard the already swollen inside of his cheek once more, the pain familiar enough to drown out the voice. He couldn’t give in, because he wasn’t sure he would be able to leave if he did. He couldn’t risk it. They wanted Tony in working condition. Alive. The asset wouldn’t compromise that chance by acting against his handlers will. 

Tony didn’t speak after that, he simply nuzzled into the offered warmth, as if he could soak the moment up if he could just get close enough. The asset never stopped the light caress. Even when the shorter brunet had long fallen asleep while and the silent tears, that had continued to soak through the asset’s fabric had nearly dried up again, he kept watching the steady rise and fall of Tony’s side. He was alive. He would live. He had to. The asset refused to think otherwise. 

Trying to keep his movements to a minimum, so he wouldn’t wake Tony the asset reached for the abandoned stripe of fabric lying barley close enough to grab without pushing the sleeping man off. The asset tied it together to create a makeshift sling for Tony. He would need it morning comes. 

With careful precision the asset lifted the others head, placing the folded sling underneath it as a makeshift pillow. ‘Не бойся. Придет утро, и ты будешь жить.’ The hushed whisper impossible loud in the silence of the room. The asset brushed his hand one last time through the brown curls, letting it brush over a tear-streaked cheek, before pushing himself up. 

He put the glove back on and resumed his position next to the door. It was just in time because only moments later heavy steps echoed through the tunnel leading towards the cell. The lock clicked open to reveal his handler as well as the man he had swapped places with before. There was a moment halt, his handler looking at the sleeping figure in disdain and it made the assets hair stand in a wave of anger. He tightened the grip on his metal-wrist hidden behind his back as he was waiting for the sign to move. 

With a flick of his wrist his handler indicated to follow him before he turned to leave the tunnel-system. The asset didn’t dare to look back at the resting man. An angry barked command had the asset immediately fall into step with his handler. They left the tent-city, no further command given. For a while the asset even believed that maybe his slip up hadn’t been noticed after all. 

The asset was bruised and bleeding. The voice of his handler ringing in his ears asking over and over what his purpose was as whiplashes rained down like acid rain, breaking skin with every contact made. His mind was still hazy from whatever had been in the injection they had given him, but he knew the answer. It was seared into him with every scar that littered his body and they made sure he remembered it with every impact, causing another bolt of white-hot pain torch his nerves. He was a tool to be used. Compassion is weakness. Weakness was unacceptable. It was the first thing he was allowed to word out loud after they had chained him up and thrown him into the silent blackness of the isolation chamber. His throat was sore from disuse and everything felt like it was on fire. He didn’t stop answering the question his handler was asking again and again, because it wouldn’t end if he stopped.

The asset felt himself being dragged away. Everything was turning, something read clouding his vision. He still recognized the stale room with the dreaded chair looming in its centre, illuminated by a single neon light. The asset wanted to be scared, but when they strapped him down and cool metal pressed against his burning back, all he felt was relieve because even this pain would fade eventually, leaving him in the mercy of oblivion. 

He closed his eyes as the metal band was fastened around his head and he allowed himself one last time of sentiment as he thought of Tony curling closer in that dark cell, before everything turned white.

**Author's Note:**

> Не бойся. Придет утро, и ты будешь жить. : Do not be afraid. The morning will come and you will live.


End file.
